


The Gates of Trenwith

by loveofmylonglife



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:04:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8426671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveofmylonglife/pseuds/loveofmylonglife
Summary: A selection of times Elizabeth waits for Ross at the gates of Trenwith. Set in 2x09





	

I.

Her head felt heavy and hot. She raised a hand to it and rubbed her temples wearily, deciding instead to rest her forehead against the cool stone of the windowsill. She didn’t quite know what time it was, she only knew it was night. It was cold and dark, the only light emanating from a candle tucked into a small holder perched on the sill next to where she was standing. All curtains were closed save the one she’d pulled aside to get a better view. She felt heavy now, her eyes opening and closing slowly as she leaned against the stone, a sigh leaving her and misting the glass in front of her. It was cold outside and the fire was doing nothing to warm her. She closed her pale green gown around herself, her toes freezing against the bare wood. She thought for a moment of walking to the fire to warm her legs a little under her thin white gown, but didn’t dare. She knew she’d be able to hear the crunch of gravel and hooves from the small distance it took to get to the fire but still, she didn’t dare. She could barely see the gates in this light. The moon was covered by dense, grey clouds that never parted, not in the hours she’d been standing there. She could barely make out each open gate and the dark void between it but if she squinted, she could see the outline. The candle began to sputter and she frowned, turning to leave the window and hurrying to the mantelpiece to find a new one.

 

II. 

She wiped her mouth carefully, dusting crumbs off her pale grey dress before she walked to the window and stood, casting a look out towards the gate. The harsh morning light hurt her eyes and she sighed, chewing on her bottom lip as she paced impatiently. She didn’t have the heart to look at the gates this time, she felt it was best if she focused on small things. The rug beneath her feet, the way the hem of her dress brushed against it, how many steps it took to pace back and forth.

“Mama? I’ve finished my breakfast. May I go to my room and play?”

“Yes, my darling. Don’t forget your lines, you must write them after playing.”

Geoffrey Charles kissed his mother’s cheek softly before turning and walking up the stairs. She watched him until he’d disappeared from sight and turned back to the window, resuming her pacing. It was morning now. Perhaps he would be at the mine. Perhaps he’d be finishing his breakfast or getting dressed or on his horse. The gates were vacant as a harsh light was cast upon them by a breaking of the clouds. They were illuminated by a ray of light that seemed almost heavenly and for a moment, her heart welled up in her throat. She turned and froze. There was no sound, no movement but a feeling, just a feeling inside her, somewhere just below her heart that made her stop. The gates remained vacant.

 

III.

The soup had done little to fill her up and she had no appetite for it anyway. Aunt Agatha had stared at her cautiously across the dinner table as Elizabeth had poked at her bowl. She sighed and tore her eyes away from the window to look at Geoffrey Charles, sitting quietly by the fire reading his book. He was absorbed in it, his blond locks falling across his face as he pouted his little lips like he always did when he was concentrating.

“You can go and play before bed, if you would like.”

His head shot up at this and he stared at his mother, grinning widely.

“Can I, Mama?”

Elizabeth broke out in a wide smile at the joy on his face and nodded.

“Go and fetch your toy soldiers, the ones with the red jackets. Come and sit by the fire here and play, it will be too cold for you upstairs.”

Geoffrey Charles set the book aside carefully and hopped off the chair that was too big for him, charging upstairs quickly. Elizabeth turned her gaze back to the window. Her head was beginning to ache again and she felt like pulling all the pins out of her hair. The darkness enveloped the gates again and it seemed like another day had passed without word from Ross. No note, no call, nothing. She wondered for a moment whether she should go to her writing desk and send him a letter, yet she worried instantly about who would open it and indeed, whether it would ever find Ross’ hands.

She didn’t know what she was waiting for as she paced back and forth in a similar manner to earlier in the day. She knew she was waiting for Ross. Perhaps she was waiting for honesty. Agatha had told her to face him with resolve, to dictate her terms since she had the most to lose and she had all intention of doing that but she knew all her resolve would crumble as soon as she saw him. As soon as he stepped through the door and faced her with those eyes, the eyes that made her melt inside, that made heat pool in her stomach so quickly she could barely believe a man could make her feel so much with just a look. He would be stern but she didn’t mind it. All she wanted was the truth, his true intentions, his true decision. She didn’t imagine for all the world that he would wish to leave Nampara and marry her, live at Trenwith with her. She didn’t imagine it, she didn’t believe it, she wouldn’t believe it. Encouraging dreams that would never see fulfilment was a dangerous game, she already knew that.

So what was she waiting for, then? To be rejected? How could Ross justify that when he knew that if he rejected her, her only hope was the one man Ross couldn’t stand? Perhaps she was waiting for honesty. For Ross to come to her and tell her clearly that he would never be with her even if he did love her. That to him, Demelza was more important. And of course she was, of course she was. She was his wife, the mother of his children, one of whom they’d lost when Demelza had risked her life to come to Trenwith and tend her family. He shared so much with Demelza, he had a life with her, happiness and support and comfort and home.

She wasn’t asking for that, she thought, as she paced. She wasn’t asking to be Ross’ home, to be his comfort and his support. Perhaps she was more in need of those things than Ross was. All she wanted was a piece of his heart and she wanted to ask whether he could give that to her. If he couldn’t, then all was understood. All was finished. For him to choose another woman over her, that didn’t hurt because she knew that he felt she had chosen Francis over him. But to be denied the knowledge that he still held her in tenderness, that hurt more than she could imagine.

“Mama, look! The soldiers are going to war!”

Geoffrey Charles’ voice was jovial as he took two toy soldiers in red jackets in his hands, walking them across the rug and towards the fire. The gold braid and buttons on their uniforms glinted in the firelight.

“Yes, my dear.”

 

IV.

_“I would, Elizabeth. I will, and so will you.”_

_It had burned then, the feeling of his lips on hers, the weight of his body pressing her down into the bed. He’d smothered her with kisses, his lips taking and taking from hers until she couldn’t give any more. When he’d exhausted her lips, he moved down to her neck, kissing and biting and licking and tasting down her body. His hand under gown, pulling it up over her thighs, spreading them roughly so he could settle between them. Impatience had overwhelmed him, the feeling of her hands tugging at his jacket, his hair, grazing over the sharp line of his jaw. He’d taken both her wrists and held them above her head, forcing her to move her hips to indicate her frustration. She’d sworn she could feel him smirking against her lips as he pushed her hips down with his own, swallowing every pant, mixing their breath as he held her wrists with one hand and her hip with the other, pulling her tight against him, teaching her to move slowly with him until she was desperate._

_“Ross, please…”_

_Then it changed. Now he was holding her hand, lying behind her, her back nestled against his warm, solid chest. Skin to skin, warm and comfortable, a sheet held in front of her to protect her modesty. From what, she didn’t know. Ross had already seen everything there was to see. She was happy now, Ross’ fingers intertwined with hers, his lips ghosting lazily, pressing warm, open mouthed kisses to her neck. She revelled in the feeling, closing her eyes as his lips made their way up to her ear._

_“You will always be mine. And I will always be yours. We can never change that.”_

_“Why would you want to change it?” she’d murmured back, focusing on the way he played with her fingers absently._

_“It’s not about wanting. There are a lot of things I want to change. You are not one of them.”_

It was cold tonight again. She leaned against the stone sill much the same way as the night before. Her head was throbbing again. Another day had passed with no word from Ross. The cold misted the glass again and he candle began to flicker with a gentle breeze that crawled under gown and up her legs. She thought for a split second how hot Ross’ hands had felt on her thighs, how he’d gripped them so hard he’d left marks of his fingertips on her pale skin in his frenzy.

She felt herself sag slightly as she gripped the window sill, looking out at the emptiness between the gates. She felt a similar void inside her. She’d felt like an empty vessel for some time now, waiting for someone, for Ross to fill her up, to restore her, bring her back to life. There seemed to be nothing where her organs should be, where her heart should be and some days it surprised her that she was even able to function, to do basic tasks. To have something given to you to taste, and then to have it snatched away indefinitely was the cruellest form of torture. Especially when the sample was so sweet, so delicious, so quenching.

She didn’t have a care in the world for anyone now. The gates remained vacant. The space between them was like a fathom she couldn’t traverse. It was the middle of the night, too dark outside to see anything anymore. The gates seemed to get further and further away from her the more she looked. _He will not come_ , she thought to herself. _He will not come._


End file.
